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🕑 Added 2025-08-09 13:19:26 +0000 UTCDisclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.
Chapter 42: Aftermath.
The Next Day
Viserys Targaryen
Viserys Targaryen awoke with a start, his eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains of Dragonstone. Confusion clouded his mind as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. As his senses sharpened, he became aware of the warmth beside him and beheld the serene face of a woman lying next to him. Aemma Arryn, the Lady of Dragonstone, lay peacefully in her slumber, her golden hair cascading over the pillow.
For a moment, everything was peaceful—until he grimaced, remembering that Aemma was no longer the Lady of Dragonstone, just as he was no longer the heir and Prince of Dragonstone.
Soon, he became aware of the pain and swelling in his cheek where his grandfather had slapped him the night before. Anger began to build in his mind, not only from the humiliation but also from the other things he had learned yesterday. He did not want to dwell on how the Great Old King had hidden his madness so well for so long. He sighed, forcing himself to calm down and think clearly.
As he sat up to freshen himself and go in search of his brother and cousins to discuss the matter, Aemma stirred and woke.
“Viserys, how are you? Talk to me,” Aemma asked worriedly as she sat up in bed.
“I was the happiest man, my dear wife, until yesterday. I thought all the lords had chosen me to be their king, but now I do not know what to think. Did I truly win, or did Vaegon simply declare my name as his father ordered? Our grandfather, the great king, turns out to be both a bastard and a madman. The things he has done, the power he wields—it is terrifying. He threatened to kill his own great-granddaughter, the favourite grandchild of his wife, and the only child and blood of his favourite son, simply to satisfy his hatred. I fear what our Grandfather will do to us if I ever protest against any of his decisions from now on. And above all, Grandfather changed his heir after calling a Great Council, humiliating me by naming a legitimised bastard to the post just because he has the Cannibal and has married the king’s daughter. I do not know if this is a nightmare or reality.”
Aemma reached out, placing her hands on Viserys’s shoulder to comfort him.
“I do not know what to say, Viserys. I never believed I would be queen one day, and yet it happened when Uncle Baelon became heir. Then, after he passed away, you were selected, and we even celebrated. Now we have lost it again after becoming enamoured with the thought of it. Yet I am not sad—I am relieved. At least now we do not have the pressure to produce a male child, and we can rest, my love,” Aemma whispered.
Viserys blinked in surprise. “I never wanted to pressure you, my love. I am sorry if you ever felt that way. I am happy with Rhaenyra, and when the gods bless us with another boy, we will wait until you regain your strength and try then. Perhaps the bastard could help you recover—his healing works, after all.”
“No,” Aemma snapped immediately. “I do not want to consume whatever demon potions the bastard has access to, Viserys. I am your wife, but I am also an Arryn, and we are followers of the Faith. The Vale will never support magic, and I will not be tainted by it.”
Viserys was surprised by his usually calm wife’s vehemence against magic.
“My love, are you certain? Magic is a sword that cuts the hand that holds it, but that is only because of a lack of study or knowledge. Fortunately—or unfortunately—the king and his new heir have deep knowledge of it. It will not harm us, my love,” Viserys tried to reason.
Aemma looked conflicted. “I am not ready now. At least let us process the madness of yesterday. I still cannot believe we are directly descended from the cruel and sweet Gael, who eloped and married that bastard. Do you truly believe Gael foresaw all this and still went with him?”
Viserys looked thoughtful. “Gael has always been odd, my love. One day, she would be the cleverest girl in the realm, and the next she would seem the greatest fool, lost in her own mind. Perhaps the magic was affecting her, and the bastard cured her.”
Aemma considered this and then shrugged. “Maybe. Viserys, I think it is time you claimed a dragon, my love. For protection—and for Rhaenyra’s sake.”
Viserys wanted to refuse immediately, but he stopped himself.
“I will think about it,” Viserys grunted.
Their conversation was interrupted by the door bursting open and a four-year-old girl running toward them.
“Kepa! Kepa! Muna! Aunt Gael is back! I saw Aunty flying a dragon. I want to fly too!”
Viserys smiled. “You can ask Uncle Daemon later to take you on the dragon, my dear.”
His smile faded as Rhaenyra pouted and then grew slightly angry. “I do not like new Uncle Daemon, Kepa. He said I am lucky and did not call me princess. He looked like a magic man from the stories, with two different eyes and two different hair colours.”
Aemma frowned and picked Rhaenyra up to check her. “When did you meet this new uncle, Rhaenyra? What else did he do?”
Rhaenyra squirmed in her hold but could not get free. “I met him in the gardens, fighting with Bear Lady. They stopped when they saw me, and they even let me hold the king’s sword. Why does Uncle Daemon have the king’s sword?”
“Ah, we will tell you later, sweet child,” Viserys said quickly.
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Viserys wandered through the halls of Dragonstone as he made his way to the rooms of his cousin, Princess Rhaenys. He swallowed his frustration as he remembered that he would also have to meet with Corlys when he arrived. Although he had never truly lusted after or loved Rhaenys as a man loves a woman, he had expected to marry her for almost all of his childhood and early adolescence. Both his father and his uncle Aemon had made attempts to make that happen, and it had not been subtle. So it had wounded his pride as a Targaryen when Rhaenys chose the Sea Snake over him, a dragon.
Viserys was not surprised when he was welcomed into the meeting room within the guest quarters. The room had a clear view through a balcony and two doors—one leading to the bedchamber and the other to the hall he had entered.
Corlys and Rhaenys were breaking their fast while drinking Arbor red from the morning itself.
“Red in the morning?” Viserys chuckled and then shrugged. “I cannot really blame you, cousin. I understand that after the events of last night, it is better to drown the memories in alcohol.”
Rhaenys remained silent, while Corlys only scoffed. Viserys could read the anger and, more than that, the humiliation in him.
“You cannot understand this, Prince Viserys,” Corlys snarled. “I had to personally write the humiliating letter asking for forgiveness while giving up our position in the line of succession to the Iron Throne. Now all the lords will wonder what happened, and I cannot even tell them that our wise king is a lunatic hiding in plain sight. The fact that I did nothing to deserve this except bear the name Velaryon is beyond frustrating.”
“Well, then perhaps you should not have seduced a girl half your age and leapt at the chance to marry her when she offered,” Viserys snapped.
Corlys looked taken aback, as though realising he was not on such friendly terms with Viserys after all.
Rhaenys immediately turned to Viserys, her expression sharpening. “That is enough, Viserys. I love Corlys, and I do not regret marrying him, even now. It is not my fault that the king never bothered to inform us of his insane hatred for the Velaryon family. And the fact that you have no plan to reclaim the throne you lost to my bastard brother only proves I was right all those years ago.”
Viserys’ eyes widened in surprise. “How did you know I had no plans? I came here to ask you what could be done.”
Rhaenys smirked. “Viserys, do not be naive. We grew up together like siblings. I know you far better than anyone else.”
Viserys only nodded. “So what do you plan to do now, Rhaenys? I know for certain that you would not have declared war after our grandfather’s death had I been the heir. But now?”
Rhaenys scoffed. “You sometimes surprise even me, Viserys. The only reason I would not is because your brother Daemon is standing behind you. And yet you take him for granted. I suggest you try to appease him after what he learned of your plans for him had you remained heir.”
Viserys looked thoughtful and then grimaced, remembering the expression on face when he had told him Otto would be his Hand when he was king.
“I will try to make amends with my brother,” Viserys said after some time. “Now, tell me, what do you intend to do?”
“For now, nothing,” Rhaenys replied. “He is immune to dragonfire and has extensive healing abilities. What else is he immune to? Will he shrug off being stabbed? Will he laugh at being beheaded? We know nothing about the limits of magic, and that puts us at a great disadvantage. I intend to study and prepare as much as possible while remaining loyal.”
Viserys nodded. “Yes, of course. Why risk everything for something uncertain? Maybe Daemon the elder will grow bored and leave the throne when our grandfather dies. Maybe he will continue to rule. Maybe he will simply abandon it. We do not know what he will do, since he is so unpredictable.”
Corlys snorted. “No man will simply give up power, Prince Viserys. Everyone is greedy in the end. If nothing can be done, then once everything is settled, I will leave for another great voyage. This time, I will focus on magic and the rumours of great powers. There must be something out there that will give us the advantage.”
=================================
Daemon Targaryen
The Rogue Prince.
Daemon woke early in the morning, unable to get any proper rest after going to bed following that damned meeting. Even now, he could hardly believe the bastard had been declared heir, and that there was nothing to be done about it. Daemon had seen the monster’s speed, and he knew that even hundreds of men could not box in and kill someone with such terrifying skill—let alone one with potent self-healing.
Then there was his terrifying grandfather. In even his most heinous thoughts, Daemon had never imagined his grandfather would become a kinslayer. The threats that man had made yesterday were something Daemon himself would be afraid to utter, even with the knowledge and power to back them. Somehow, the king had found a way to control that monster to his will, turning a disaster into an advantage. In a way, Daemon almost admired him for successfully protecting the legacy of House Targaryen by making such hard choices.
The only thing that had pleased Daemon yesterday was seeing how much his shrew of a grandmother had suffered upon learning the truth. Daemon had begun to dislike the queen long ago, when she constantly blamed him and tried to keep him away from Gael. That dislike had turned to outright hatred when she titled him the Rogue Prince and denied him Gael’s hand, calling him a philanderer—before he had even lain with a whore. He had searched hard for the person who had spread those rumours, but had never found them.
Daemon could not stop his mirth as he imagined the queen’s reaction upon discovering that Gael had married the greatest womaniser in Westeros—Daemon himself, the Daemon.
More than all of this, what truly disappointed him was his brother Viserys. The fact that Viserys did not intend to name him Hand after his ascension had stung deeply. The lack of acknowledgement curdled Daemon’s thoughts after all the effort he had put into making him heir.
“Did the fool believe Rhaenys would have supported him when it was time for his accession without me—Daemon Targaryen—standing behind him with Caraxes and Dark Sister ready?” Daemon muttered. Then another thought struck him.
Would Viserys actually grant him an annulment from the bronze bitch? The answer came quickly.
No. Viserys was married to Aemma Arryn, and the Vale was under the regency of the bronze bitch’s father. More than that, Aemma was friends with the bronze bitch, and there was no way she would agree to an annulment.
“Fuck,” Daemon cursed as he rose from bed, deciding to go flying to clear his thoughts.
=====================================
Daemon was on his way to the Dragonmont when he heard the distinct sound of Valyrian steel clashing on Valyrian steel from Aegon’s garden. He scowled, immediately deducing it was the bastard prince and the bear bitch.
He wanted to ignore them and continue on his way, but curiosity got the better of him as he remembered Lyanna claiming that perhaps the two of them together could take on her father. Daemon scoffed. There was no way she could take the bastard in a sword fight. Perhaps the bastard had been coddling the little bitch.
He almost stayed hidden in the shadows to watch, but decided against it. The animals could already be watching, and there was no point in denying himself the best view.
The first thing he registered was the skill and speed on display. While nowhere near the speed of yesterday, the bastard was not holding back on his precious daughter—he was pressing her hard while Lyanna struggled to keep up. There was no talking or smirking from her this time; her face was set in deep concentration, unlike the bastard’s, who was calmly analysing and judging the spar.
Daemon watched for some time before realising something else—the bastard was an excellent teacher. He increased the speed and difficulty whenever Lyanna began to match him, keeping it just above her skill level.
A growl escaped Lyanna, and Daemon knew she understood exactly what her father was doing. Her concentration broke under her rage and frustration. The bastard prince smirked and punished her lapse by increasing his speed, battering her quickly until she lost her footing and fell.
Even Daemon grinned at the bear bitch’s misery.
“Why are you grinning like an idiot, Daemon? If you have the daring, come here and fight me. I really want to bash something in, and you are the perfect target,” Lyanna called from where she had fallen.
Daemon glanced at the bastard prince, but saw no reaction—no emotion, only calmness.
“I have better things to do,” Daemon replied at last.
“Daemon,” the bastard prince said, then paused as if considering something. “Oh, yes—it is strange to say my own name. From now on, you will be called Daemon the Younger when we are both in the same room. Now, as for the matter at hand—you are, of course, welcome to join in. It will be more entertaining for me to fight both of you at once.”
Daemon the Younger grimaced. “Is this a command from the heir to the Iron Throne?”
The bastard prince shook his head. “No. The first part is. The offer to join our sparring is just that—an offer.”
“Then, as I said, I have better things to do. I am on my way,” Daemon replied, walking away from his family to be alone again.
===================
The sea wind whipped against Daemon’s face as he approached the only soul — beast or man — he knew loved him without condition. Caraxes waited for him in the shadow of the cliffs, her long crimson neck curling toward him with a low, rumbling growl that was almost a greeting. She cherished him, and he loved her in return. She was his truest bond in a world where everything else had soured.
He was not sad. Not angry. Daemon was just tired of it all.
He had lost his mother when he was little and, in return, gained a foolish little brother. He worked hard to prove himself, and in the process, he had to lose a man who was almost a father to him — Uncle Aemon — to claim his dragon, Caraxes. Then he was forced to marry the bronze bitch when there were still eligible Valyrians, all because his foolish grandmother could not let go of her precious Gael. The only thing that brought him any satisfaction during the wedding was Dark Sister, given to him by his father before the wedding, as if the sword he had earned by his skill, could make up for the betrayal.
Then his father, who should have been king, died, and Daemon had to fight for Viserys’s claim when it was never in question to begin with. And when the time came for his reward, Viserys the fool did not want him. Perhaps the Gods were just after all — Viserys had lost his heirship to the bastard, Daemon, just as he realised his brother would never give him what he wanted.
The thought drew a bitter smile to Daemon’s lips as he ran a gloved hand down Caraxes’s scales, feeling the heat that lived beneath them. With a swift movement, he swung into the saddle. The leather straps tightened around his legs, the ropes ready beneath his hands.
“Soves,” he murmured, even if he had no need to order loudly.
Caraxes leapt, wings tearing the air apart. The island fell away beneath them, the grey stone and black beaches shrinking to toy-like shapes. The port of Dragonstone sprawled below, its ships reduced to tiny black flecks drifting across the water. Higher and higher they rose, until the wind howled in his ears and the world felt like it belonged to him alone.
But, as always, something came to punish him. The peace shattered with a roar that did not belong to Caraxes. It came from above — deep, guttural, and steeped in malice. Shadows eclipsed the sunlight, and Daemon’s head snapped upward just in time to see a black monster descend. Morghul.
For a moment, Daemon’s heart nearly stopped as pure fear enveloped him. A sharp roar from Caraxes jolted his senses, flooding his mind with his dragon’s rage and panic.
Daemon knew diving to the ground would not save them; Morghul’s already in a dive at them and his greater speed would allow him to catch them mid-fall. But Daemon and Caraxes were almost one, and instinctively, he gave the order to roll hard to the right. At the speed they were flying, the maneuver would turn into a barrel roll, leaving Caraxes needing two full turns to stabilise. Normally it will be plenty of time for another dragon to strike after using its greater wingspan to slow the dive and breathe fire at them.
Yet Daemon suspected this was not a true attack, perhaps because of the strange connection between the bastard and his morghul. Even now the bastard must know his bonded dragon is hunting one of his cousins for no reason but sport.
Caraxes obeyed, and as Daemon hung upside down in the saddle, clinging to the ropes with his hands, he saw Morghul spread his wings to slow his descent and turn to the left. For a moment, as Daemon hung there upside down, Daemon’s eyes locked with Morghul’s smouldering green one, and understanding struck him.
The eyes were mocking him and it was the dragon itself finding entertainment on the cost of him. As if to confirm it, Morghul let out a wheezing sound that Daemon could swear sounded like evil laughter.
Daemon roared in fury, but the wind stole the sound. Caraxes righted herself in the air, flying away from the larger dragon. Fortunately, Morghul did not pursue and instead flew in the opposite direction.
Daemon cursed the Gods and the bastard who bore his name, trying to calm the pounding of his heart.
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Alysanne Targaryen
Alysanne Targaryen woke up with a weak scream from the nightmare she had. Gael marrying her bastard grandson, Gael running away from her, and more than that, the bastard being declared the next king by her own sweet brother and husband, Jaehaerys. What madness had possessed her to imagine her husband as the secret son of Maegor the Cruel?
Alysanne almost smiled as her consciousness became fully aware after sleep.
“What a horrible nightmare,” Alysanne whispered as she sat up in the comfortable bed.
“It was not a nightmare, Mother,” the voice of Gael interrupted her thoughts. Alysanne’s head whipped to the side where the voice came from.
“Gael, you are back,” Alysanne said immediately, smiling fully. “I missed you, my dear sweet child.”
Gael just looked at her pointedly.
Alysanne frowned, then realization hit her. It was not a nightmare. It was reality.
“No…” Alysanne whispered.
“Yes,” Gael replied.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Nooooo…” Alysanne fainted.
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The next time Alysanne came to consciousness, her thoughts were far clearer somehow. She groaned in pleasure as the old aches in her body were not felt this time, and she opened her eyes. She was glad to see Gael sitting in a chair beside her bed, reading something.
“Gael,” Alysanne called.
“Mother, it seems the healing potion my husband gave you is far more effective than expected. You look coherent, and your eyes have that spark again,” Gael said without looking up from her reading.
Indignation and rage flared in Alysanne for a moment, but she sighed deeply to swallow them. She remembered what the bastard had said, and if there was even a chance it was not a lie, showing anger now would mean losing Gael forever.
“Gael, tell me. Did you actually go with the bastard by your own choice, or was he the one who whispered poison into your ear to make you see your own mother as a jailer? If it was the latter, and you fell for the charms of that inhuman bastard, I will find a way to get you out of it and kill him,” Alysanne snapped.
“There was nothing like that, Mother. I went by my own choice. I foresaw it, after all, during the rare times I was fully in my head while the septas and handmaidens left me alone to be myself. When I met my Daemon two years ago, I was at a point where if I had to hear one more septa whisper that I was the Maiden reborn and that magic is a curse, I would have killed her. Only my time alone in the godswood kept me sane by then. And your constant smothering never helped, Mother.”
Alysanne looked as though she had been slapped.
“I loved you, Gael. I loved you so much. You were my sweet winter child. One day, when you become a mother yourself, you will understand that what I did was not smothering,” Alysanne said with conviction.
“No, Mother. You never loved me. I was a representation. A representation of all my sisters and your love for them, even though you never bothered with some of them at all in your madness. I really want to know what Viserra did for you to care so little for her. The fact that you even entertained marrying her to an old fat Manderly is mind-boggling to me.”
Alysanne opened her mouth to protest, but her daughter interrupted.
“And do not say you did not. I know that if it had not been for my husband using the Manderlys in his schemes, and how much the Manderlys profited from it without your
knowledge, you would have announced it.”
For a moment, Alysanne looked guilty.
“This is all in the past, Gael. It does not change what you did. You ran away and married a bastard,” Alysanne snarled.
“From what I heard, you did the same thing, Mother,” Gael shot back. “As far as I remember, you did it against your own mother’s wishes. Maybe this is her curse, for you to suffer the same with your supposed favorite daughter.” Gael smirked.
Alysanne’s eyes widened in shock as she looked at Gael as if seeing her for the first time.
“Anyway, stop yelling about irrelevant matters. Daemon’s powers make his origins irrelevant. We were also once sheepherders, then Valyria happened. We were once foreign scum who came to invade Westeros. Then Aegon became king. Origins become irrelevant before power,” Gael said with a shrug.
Alysanne remained silent for minutes as she tried to grasp this new Gael—or perhaps the real Gael she had never seen.
“I do not know what to say to make you my Gael again, but for what it is worth, I am sorry I could not protect you from the clutches of that evil bastard and his schemes,” Alysanne said with a defeated sigh.
Gael only shook her head in disappointment, which the Queen ignored.
“The only good thing is that at least you will be a queen. The bastard will ruin this kingdom with his lack of knowledge or greed, so I will train you to be an effective queen. That way, something can be saved from Jaehaerys’s foolish decision.”
Gael scoffed. “Mother, I have been your shadow for the last couple of decades. I have learned what to do from you, and more importantly, what not to do as a queen. There is no need for your lessons. Also, just as Daemon told Father, you may remain queen, but you will have no real power. More than that, you are still well only because of Daemon’s gift, which he provided after I begged him. If it is stopped, you will be bedridden. This is my gift to you for all you have done for me. You may remain as long as your mind wills it, and the healing potion will continue to be delivered to you. I have had a lifetime of your love. I suggest you spend your remaining time being a real grandmother to Rhaenyra, Laena, and Laenor, unlike how you loved some of your children only as a queen would. I will be going to King’s Landing with the others when Father announces Daemon’s new status. Even Father agreed with Daemon’s suggestion to keep you here, as you are too sick to travel now, and he fears you will be overheard shouting things like Maegor being the king’s father or how Father threatened Driftmark. This is the end, Mother.”
Alysanne gasped as Gael stood from the chair.
“Gael, please, do not leave me like your sisters did.”
To Alysanne’s horror, Gael only shook her head and walked out of the room.
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Kingslanding
Otto Hightower
Hand of the king.
Ser Otto was not having a good sennight at all. It had begun with happiness, as his life’s work of making Viserys Targaryen, his good friend and even a student, was finally going to pay interest shortly. Otto knew that Viserys would win because the majority of lords would not suffer a woman as queen, especially when that queen was married to Corlys Velaryon. More than that, he had learned the king believed the same thing, and Otto knew that when the old king desired something, he made it so. Otto would never have suspected foul play by the king if it had not been for the events after the death of Prince Aemon.
Ser Otto celebrated when the raven from Harrenhal arrived announcing Viserys as heir. Even though he had to play the disappointed Hand when he delivered the news to the old queen, Otto was over the top of the mountain with joy. He had already subtly planted the seeds in Viserys’ mind about how fortunate he was to inherit a fully capable administration in the form of the small council assembled by Jaehaerys the Conciliator, the wise king himself. Otto was almost certain that after decades of planning and many methods, finally a Hightower was once again will be behind the throne, influencing decisions and the king himself.
In the last few years, as he worked to ensure he was an essential part of the small council, Otto’s own influence and plans had grown. He had seen Princess Aemma fail to produce a living child, and Otto was thankful—whether it was the gods who cursed her or simply Viserys’ foolishness in bedding a thirteen-year-old girl, a weak one at that. Otto knew the girl would not live long unless Viserys stopped trying for children, which he would not do. Otto understood then that the prince would have to remarry.
Otto had been teaching his daughter to be a pious yet intelligent girl from a young age, while subtly planting in her mind the possibility of marrying a prince. It was only much later that Otto realised his nine-year-old girl had developed a childish crush on the wrong prince—Daemon Targaryen, the second son. Otto tried to dissuade her, but the more he tried, the more the idea spread. Daemon was the dashing knight, while Viserys was the bookish one. Daemon was the charismatic prince who always wanted to be the star in any room while viserys was satisfied being just acknowledged.
Otto knew Daemon would not be influenced by himself or even his child, so he began to plant rumours of Daemon’s cruelty and debauchery. The gossip spread faster than he expected, and eventually his daughter began to hate the prince as her childish crush and ideals of knighthood were shattered. By the time Baelon died, Otto knew his daughter admired the lesser-talented Viserys over the accursed womanizer Daemon.
Otto was very happy that the only child Aemma carried to term, was a girl and even then the maester had warned of Aemma’s fragile health. The decision of Viserys to wait for trying for a boy again after Aemma get her health back up was surprising and even his advice for getting a son was chastised by Viserys.
By this time, Prince Baelon was busier than ever, and Otto was the one assisting him with the Hand of the King’s tasks. When Baelon died of a burst belly in 100 AC, even Otto was shocked. He thought it a blessing from the Seven when the king made him the new Hand of the King. The fight for the succession was beginning, and Otto tried to fan the flames, but he knew Rhaenys was too cautious to act, and the king finally decided to settle the matter.
The supposedly wise king’s decision to call a Great Council and plant in the lords’ minds the idea of choosing their monarch was, in Otto’s opinion, foolish. But the king went through with it, and now a lifetime of diligent service to House Targaryen had rewarded him. Otto was almost tempted to begin his true service to House Hightower now that the king had been absent from day-to-day rule for several months, but he managed to control himself and wait for the old king’s death.
Thus, Otto was feeling the greatest joy he had ever known when he heard the single most damaging news to his position and power.
The missing of Princess Gael Targaryen.
Otto had long ago written off Princess Gael has a foolish sick girl who will be nothing but a broodmare for some lucky bastard after the death of old king and queen. So when Gael vanished from the castle without anyone even knowing how, Otto knew something big has happened an it will not be useful to his plans at all.
Otto ruled King’s Landing in the king’s absence at Harrenhal, and losing a princess of the realm was something punishable. He cursed the foolish, insane girl in his mind as he personally joined the search through the city. He had to set an example and lead it himself. That he failed to find the girl for a week, until the king’s party returned to the city, enraged him to the core. He was almost certain she had been assaulted and murdered.
Otto humbled himself, grovelling and humiliating himself to keep his position, which he managed to do. The king, in his rage, left the ruling of the realm to Otto once more.
Otto’s confidence returned, until the maester informed him of a letter sent directly to Daemon Targaryen by the king. Otto tried to question the king, but was rebuffed. Later he was told to hold the capital as the hand of the king and the Targaryens departed for Dragonstone. Otto almost gasped in shock when he saw the frail old king climb Vermithor like a young man and fly to Dragonstone.
Otto made inquiries with the Grand Maester and the servants who attended the king and queen.
The only thing he obtained from the servants were two glass bottles with a faint reddish tint, one from each of the royal couple’s rooms. Otto was ashamed to admit he could not determine anything from them, nor even guess at what had truly happened.
That night, Otto went to bed with a troubled mind. His dream began strangely and then shifted into something so lifelike that he nearly lost control of his bladder.
He found himself sitting on the Iron Throne with the Hand’s pin on his chest, while his daughter stood in the queen’s place, holding a silver-haired baby. Clearly, he was the regent, and he saw House Hightower rising higher and higher in power. Suddenly, there was silence, and Otto’s vision blurred, racing northward. When it cleared, he was surrounded by snow in the barbaric North. Otto cursed, but the words died in his throat when his mind drowned in terror at the roar of a black dragon above. Even from the height, the sheer presence and the flap of its wings made his body tremble.
The dragon did not even notice him. It beat its wings and rose, and suddenly a tornado formed, as if the Storm God himself had descended. Otto was lifted into the air and hurled across Westeros until he landed atop the Hightower. He lay there in relief until the sound of the wind grew deafening. He looked up and saw the tornado approaching the Hightower. He screamed as he fell, and to his horror, the tower split in two.
Otto awoke with a scream, his body drenched in sweat.
Finally the horrifying answer to his day’s unease came to him.
It was the northern bastard. Daemon Snow.
The next day, when Otto received a letter from the king announcing his return and promising significant news and changes to the realm, he was not surprised. He sighed in frustration, understanding the dream.
Somehow, Daemon Snow would come with the king and take his place as Hand of the King, while he, the Hightower, fell from the heights.
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Authors note: yeah otto will wish his first guess was correct and he lost his hand position to daemon snow while viserys remained the heir… it is going to be the worst month in otto’s life when he was supposed to be the most happy as he reached half the summit. Also if anyone is wondering why otto was never discovered because he really was subtle and careful… also he is too low in status compared to others while he work so much more efficiently and he truly worked loyally for house Targaryen till now so he could get the small council spot. Also spending almost a decade in kingslanding while learning from the best made him a very very effiecent statesman when he was already tywin level competent administrator.
Yeah, Alysanne has lost it completely in her old age and the horrifying meeting. She is sick like she should have been after gael’s suicide and the only way even a shred of clarity comes from daemon’s blood. Which could only extend the life so long.. the news regarding Jaehaerys completely broke her….
Viserys and Rhaenys doing some introspection while accepting the truth for now/.. they has plenty to loose after all… so wait and see approach….
The rogue prince is tired at age 18-19 age due to not getting anything he want while he worked hard for something else…
Next chapter: probably will be the start of the kingslanding arc, unless more targ family drama is to be shown…..
Read, Commend and Recommend…..
Comments
the batman
Welcome!!!!
blaiz
Thanks for the chapter and for your hard work
the batman
thanks!!! yeah the last 4 chapters will have extra quality because well, out of 19k words, 13 k is written one year ago before this story is published and i have re-read it dozens of time over the year, all the while changing it when i see something i didn't like.... also being like a climax arc and full of conversations which is my easy thing to write all enhances the quality.... yeah canon is officailly over.... change is coming...
the batman
as of now mc with grandma convo is in plans... for daemon she is almost irrelevant and it is just for gloating over a old woman.... yeah vissy and rhaenys will not just allow loosing their position.... but unlike the idiots during dance thwy are very careful and decided to wait and see how the game will end upon... they are very cautious and will appear loyal until they could get some kind of winning trump card... who knows, by the time something like that happenes, they may be really loyal to daemon because, well daemon is exceptionally charming and charismatic when needed.... his own abilities enhance them to insane degree...
the batman
it is precog dream...hightowerrs have intermarried with the garderners after all..... not daemon snow messing.. he has no reason for messing with otto till now....
the batman
yep.. one of the most foolish thing the GOOD queen did.... i have seen somewhere that it is just G R R M satisfying his fetish and pure author fiat....
fireball77
Viserra's Manderly marriage in OTL was such a dick move by Alyssanne, especially since she knew Viserra would have NOTHING after Theomore died, since she had married some of her ladies-in-waiting to his son's some thirty years earlier
Lord Sturm
Is Hightower getting precog dreams due to having magic talent or is it Red Demon messing?
TyrantGod
Will you do a 1 on 1 MC grandma conversation? Mc will troll her so much. Looks like how things r going MC will be forced to wipe out the velayrons anyway. Both Viserys n Rhaenys r stubborn idiots. Can’t wait to see how the MC will put them in their place?
Lord Sturm
they are 66+ years...
KickedElm0
You know the Old king with old queen are only in they 55 years you can make them live till like 90 years before they kick the bucked for safty reasons
AJ
I like the vibe of the chapter, I also think that the previous chapters were amazing as an climax to an arc and I know some times the transition to an another arc can be awkward but it’s better than others . I’m looking forward to this part of the story because for most of the story Daemon the elder has been avoiding/ not wanting to have any relationship with the Targaryen and he was developing in the North. He has already changed things by having Aemma pushing Viserys to claim another dragon and Corlys wanting to learn magic. Plus a rift now formed between Visery and Daemon the Younger earlier than canon .
the batman
ah well... lets see in next chapter..... it is hard for me to write without conversations... last 4 chapters of both ads and glh has been entirely full of conversation and this one has barely any... maybe thats why it seems off to you... yeah i got one place it was something else.... corrected it...
the batman
ohh?? don't know what happened... if it is the rhaenys portion then maybe it was i wrote it at the end after chapter was ready to publish and i realised how i missed rhaenys... and edited it at the same time... usually i write it and edit it the next day.
the batman
yeah !!! i had to include it when this hit me ... 🤣🤣🤣
TyrantGod
This chapter seems off. Compared to GLH, ADS quality seems to have fallen. Baleon name is spelled wrong.
avatarjedi
Glad for the update! In the over the year I’ve subscribed to your Patreon I’ve never commented on writing quality, but the Viserys section read as exceptionally clunky in comparison to your usual writing.
Rachel N
You ran away and married a bastard,” Alysanne snarled. “From what I heard, you did the same thing, Mother,” Gael shot back. 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
